


Strength

by kuiske



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, Gambling, Gen, Permanent Injury, slightly dysfunctional sibling relationship, very mild fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6028753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuiske/pseuds/kuiske
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dori might not look the part, but he's a very proficient weightlifter when someone manages to convince him into participating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength

Durin’s Day had progressed well into the night and practically everyone was very far gone in drink, Dori himself something of a marked exception. He sipped his ale carefully, trying not to slosh any of it on himself even when a bunch of dwarrows pushed right past him without as much as a grunt that could’ve been interpreted as an apology by a soul who was feeling charitable. They were in a hurry to join the drunken crowd that had gathered around Dwalin, calling in their bets just in the nick of time as it turned out. 

“Final wagers, people, final wagers!” Nori called, jingling a purse full of coin with a flourish. “Dwalin lifts that boulder or then he can’t, and maybe falls on his arse too. Odds are two against one, are there any more takers for this round?”

 _Of course_ it was Nori playing the bookie. It was a fine chance for him to make some coin without ever breaking sweat. There was something to be said in favour of his slightly shady gambling enterprise though; at least there was some semblance of legality to it and he didn’t simply help himself to other people’s pockets. Dwalin had been at this for over an hour now, he was drenched in sweat and seemed to finally have found his limit. Tendons in his neck bulged out as he fought to lift the boulder off the ground. He got it roughly a foot in the air before it slipped from his hands and fell with a thud that got drowned out by disappointed groans and victorious cheers of those who’d been betting against him.

Dori noticed Ori looking at him and realised he’d seen him following the show with a little too much interest.

“So much for that, then,” he sniffed with practised disapproval.

“I bet you could lift that though,” Ori said earnestly and gestured towards the boulder with his tankard.

“Really now?” Somehow Nori had wrangled himself away from the crowd and snuck beside them like a faerie that could be summoned with a mention of gambling. “And how much would you be betting, little brother?” 

“Absolutely out of the question!” Dori snapped. “It’s no business of mine if drunken fools want to gamble their wages away, but you’re not taking money from children, and family at that!”

Ori muttered that mere three years away from legal majority hardly meant he was a child anymore, and Nori lifted his hands up in defence. 

“Just making conversation here.”

“I’m _sure_ you were. And besides it’s all a moot point, because I will not be taking part in this foolishness.”

“Oh, come on, Dori,” Ori implored earnestly.

“Yeah, come on, Dori,” Nori echoed much less sincerely.

“Absolutely, come on, Dori,” Lady Dís laughed as she plopped down on the bench beside him and gave Nori a jab with her walking stick. “What are we talking about?” 

“We’re talking about the fact that my big old brother here could lift that little thing that was too much for your esteemed cousin, and with ease at that,” Nori said with feigned seriousness. “I mean there isn’t much question to it, other than if he should even be bothered to prove it or not.”

“Is that so?” Dís grinned impishly at Dori and drained her tankard in one go. Her cheeks were flushed either with drink or dancing, or then a combination of both. If one saw her in a fray of dwarrows colliding into each other on the dance floor and missed the cane in her hand, one might never have guessed that her right leg was built from steel instead of flesh and bone. The young princess had lost her leg below the knee in an orc raid after Erebor fell, and she’d almost lost her life as well, but it usually took more than a missing limb to keep her from celebrating Durin’s Day as raucously as any dwarrow. She nudged Dori with her elbow.

“Let’s see it then! You can hardly make claims like that and not expect to make good on them!” 

Dori favoured Dís with a long-suffering sigh that wasn’t necessarily respectful enough considering her station, but oh well, he was her elder. 

“I have _not_ made such claims and I shall _not_ put on a show so the _he_ can fill his pockets at the expense of dwarrows who’ve no better use for their coin,” he said stiffly and gave Nori a very pointed look.

“Listening to him you think I _force_ people to gamble,” Nori muttered under his breath. 

It might have escalated into a fine argument if Dís hadn’t called for her brother to come over for a bit. Thorin wasn’t generally in a habit of refusing his sister, so he came as he was bid; arm slung over Dwalin’s shoulders and a mug of whiskey in his free hand. Now, Dori was fairly adamant in his resolution to not partake in any tomfoolery for anyone’s benefit and he wouldn’t budge whether it was his own flesh and blood trying to cajole him into it, or then wryly amused and very drunk royalty. As such, it was something of a mystery to him how he eventually found himself standing next to the massive boulder, surrounded by curious audience and Nori’s voice calling for bets, odds for his success one against six. 

On the last moment he shrugged off his coat and handed it over to Ori. The fabric was his own making as was the embroidery on it, so it was as strong and fine as could be found within a thousand miles at least, but there was no need to chafe it against the rough stone. He smoothed the front of his tunic. It was one of his better ones as well and it’d be a shame to ruin it, but since he’d somehow allowed himself to be talked into this he supposed it couldn’t be helped. He could hear some scattered titters from the crowd but paid them no mind. No doubt they were those who’d wrestle in the mud in their feast-day finery without a second thought, and once they’d sobered up they’d come knocking on his door asking if there was a way their clothes could be mended. 

Dori nudged the boulder tentatively, testing its weight before he finally crouched down and grabbed a hold of it. His muscles strained with the exertion of wrenching it from the ground and he staggered and almost fell over under its weight, but he did eventually manage to straighten up with the boulder in his lap. He noted with some satisfaction that his audience had fallen silent. All he could hear was his own blood thudding in his ears and he supposed he had won the match already, but since he’d already gone through this much trouble… With a final burst of strength Dori heaved the boulder off his lap and lifted it above his head where he held it for a few heartbeats before he allowed it to drop with a thud that shook the ground. 

Stunned silence broke into wild cheers and dwarrows rushed in to clap his back. The most enthusiastic were the Erebor-born he had known since the Dragon, and who had also known him well enough to bet in his favour. Dori dusted off his hands nonchalantly and graciously accepted a fresh tankard of ale from the nearest of the dozen or so dwarrows who were offering him one. He noted ruefully that he had been quite right about the fate of his tunic, but he admitted to himself that it might have been worth it after all. 

Especially as it turned out that some awed looks and a blinding hangover weren’t quite the sum of what he earned with his display of strength. 

Though Nori was nowhere to be found when Dori stumbled to the kitchen the next morning, there was a plate of cold sausages left on the table, and next to it a ball of very expensive silver thread. 

The scoundrel really wasn’t half that bad when he bothered to make the effort.


End file.
